Birdhouse in my soul

Went out for a quick one after work last night... got back at 1am steaming drunk after sleeping in the cab on the way home. This was not ideal. I don't seem to ever be able to learn that my liver and premium strength lager do not a happy marriage make. It was someone's leaving do... someone I had never met in person and had limited dealings with via email and very occasionally on the phone. Any excuse for a party. Woke up this morning looking rough as hell and feeling ten times worse. Thank god the boy was there to ferry me home. I guess work romances do have their benefits. The problem with having a bar literally in your place of work is that you get completely trashed and then still have to walk out of the building past the security staff that will be perfectly capable of reminding you of any embarrassing drunken behaviour. There was some crazy condiment dancing I'd rather forget.. who doesn't want to dance with an HP sauce bottle in an erotic manner in front of your colleagues. Oh well, I guess this is the beginning of my last week... better to get it out of my system now and start my new job with a reputation for decent behviour and self control... as if that's likely!

Frustration

My current job leaves me with far too much free time. For some, this is a luxury. We get paid good salaries to sit around and do... nothing. This is fine, in theory, but there are only so many mindless things you can do whilst doing nothing, and I promise you even facebook loses its appeal after a while. So I sit. I've been in my current position for eight months. I have got better at doing nothing, but not much. I pass the time on instant messenger, talking to colleagues that are sitting less than 10 feet away from me, just because the tap-tap-clacking of the keyboard gives off the air of importance, of existence, of meaning. I send emails to old friends and stare hopefully at my mailbox, wishing for that flash of a reply. I plan holidays. I plan holidays I can take, and holidays I will never be able to take but I plan them anyway. I look at menus for restaurants all around the city, planning dates I will never go on with people I have never met. I do all the normal, mundane, administrative tasks one can do from a desktop. I pay bills, I check statements, I change contracts. I shop. I shop for presents. I shop for myself. I make bids on ebay, but only for items I know I'll be outbid for and so will never ever have to actually buy. I get a thrill from driving up prices on pointless items that didn't need to be owned the first time round, never mind the second or the third. I check heatworld.com and read about big brother, about the so-called celebrities who seem to spend their lives falling out of clubs and into cars, or brunching in cafes and pubs that must exist in this city, but that I will never have the misfortune to stumble upon. I occasionally decide I need a hobby. I learn languages, I train myself online in skills I will never need. I contemplate doing a masters; part-time or distance learning? I do my make-up. I drink more tea. Sometimes I get tea for other people. Sometimes just for myself. Occasionally the phone rings. I answer it, yet find myself generally unable to answer whatever question is being asked of me. I daydream about a life in high heels. I think about what it would be like to work in the city. I think about men. I wander how long I should leave it until getting my hair bleached again, how long dare I let the roots grow before finally giving in and subjecting myself to that sickening smell and exaggerated gestures of sweep fringe and layering. I wonder whether anyone has noticed that my knickers are visible above my jeans. I contemplate lunch. I check the news, I use this to remember my own mortality. I try to empathise with people I have nothing in common with and who I will never understand. I think about past lovers/friends/colleagues. I look them up on social networking sites. I take pleasure in the fact that my life is probably more interesting. It isn't. But they will think it is.

I escape this life in one week. I will miss it. I must never forget it. And I must never let it get like this again.